


The Woes of Journalistic Neutrality

by lily_winterwood



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Music, Gen, M/M, Musician Katsuki Yuuri, Musician Victor Nikiforov, POV Original Character, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Stalking, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: Maddie has so many things to say to this man. An entire palace of sentences, carefully constructed out of the right words meant to convey the depth of Katsuki’s songs on their own lonely soul. But in this moment, all that they can wrangle out of their windpipe is a strangled “hi.” Which really isn’t a good first impression when combined with their lateness, but Katsuki smiles nonetheless.“Hi,” he says, rising and extending a hand. “I’m Yuuri Katsuki.”“Madison Hoffer.” Maddie’s amazed they can remember their own name.(Or, five times Madison Hoffer was oblivious about the Katsuki-Nikiforov relationship and one time they weren't)





	The Woes of Journalistic Neutrality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itakethewords (BluntBetty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluntBetty/gifts).



**i. john, a coworker**

“ _Katsuki’s at the café already, Hofs, you’re late_.”

Madison Hoffer, a very tired and very late reporter, sighs into their phone. “Be right over,” they mutter.

“ _His producer is sending me concerned looks_.” John’s voice is too chipper for this hour of the morning. Maddie stifles a yawn as they join the crowd exiting the parking structure for the street, nearly colliding in their pre-coffee haze with some disgruntled interns.

They cross the street to Panin’s just in time to lock eyes with a handsome silver-haired man at the door. In that moment, Maddie can’t help but shiver at the judgement that seems to roll beneath the surface of the man’s smooth and serene expression. It’s as if he _knows_ they’re late. Something tells Maddie he does.

John is standing next to the corner booth of this small café in downtown St Lidwina, balancing his laptop case and a bagged croissant on the same arm. Maddie makes a beeline for the booth, stopping short as another young man comes into view. Yuuri Katsuki, whose music still evokes memories of Maddie’s old suitcase in their hand and a new second apartment, is sitting there with the sunlight hitting his blue-framed glasses and burnishing his ebony hair.

Maddie has so many things to say to this man. An entire palace of sentences, carefully constructed out of the right words meant to convey the depth of Katsuki’s songs on their own lonely soul. But in this moment, all that they can wrangle out of their windpipe is a strangled “hi.” Which really isn’t a good first impression when combined with their lateness, but Katsuki smiles nonetheless.

“Hi,” he says, rising and extending a hand. “I’m Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Madison Hoffer.” Maddie’s amazed they can remember their own name. “I’m sorry I was late; you know how traffic can get.”

“Wouldn’t be St Lidwina without it,” agrees Yuuri drily. He takes a seat again, stirring thoughtfully at his latté. “Have you ordered yet?”

“I’ll —” Maddie scrunches up their face. “Let’s get started, I’m sure you have a lot of things to do. Thank you for showing up.” They turn to John. “Thank you for keeping him company.”

John shrugs. “I was passing through,” he says. “You owe me infinite nachos.”

“Three and a whiskey cocktail,” counters Maddie. “I’ve got student loans.”

“Fair enough.” John hefts his laptop case onto his shoulder. “I’m off to the office, then,” he says through a mouthful of croissant bag. “Shame you couldn’t meet Katsuki’s producer, though — he left just before you came in.”

Maddie’s eyes narrow. “Silver hair?” they ask. John nods, looking over at Katsuki, who is finishing off what appears to be his second latté. “I briefly bumped into him at the door. How annoyed was he that I was late?”

John purses his lips, considering it. “He’ll live,” he reasons, as Katsuki waves over a server. “Have fun, you two.”

Maddie rolls their eyes as they slide into the booth across from Katsuki, whose cheeks flush as he bows his head in greeting again.

“Have you tried the matcha latté yet?” he asks, as the server comes over. “It’s a little sweet, but I love it. Keeps me up for hours at night.”

Maddie chuckles. “No, I haven’t. I could try one, though.”

Katsuki nods, before ordering two matcha lattés and a biscotti. Maddie gets a blood orange vegan doughnut as well, and Katsuki raises an eyebrow as the server leaves.

“They order from a local bakery. I know they’re delicious,” Maddie explains as they take out their notebook. “So.”

“So,” agrees Katsuki, expression expectant. Maddie fishes for words, trying to scrounge up the remnants of the word-castle they had built for this moment. _Your music has brought meaning back to my life. I don’t think I could’ve made it through the past couple of years without your songs_.

Out of the corner of their eyes they see the silver-haired man watching them across the street, morning light casting his hair in vibrant platinum. Katsuki looks over as well, groaning before taking out his phone.

“He’s doing that thing again,” he mutters, before typing something into it. “I’m sorry, my producer was just concerned — there were a couple people trying to use interviews to… proposition me? The questions were inappropriate. That’s why we wanted to see yours ahead of time, I’m sorry about the trouble —”

“It’s nothing,” Maddie says hastily, tucking the ruins of their castle into the back of their head. After all, making an interview subject uncomfortable with weirdly emotional declarations isn’t the best way to establish rapport. “Uh, so you know this is for _History Maker Magazine_ , right? I’m Madison Hoffer, and if there’s anything you say during the interview that you would like to take off the record, please let me know.”

Katsuki nods, folding his hands on the table. The server returns with the biscotti and doughnut. Maddie regretfully pushes theirs aside for a moment to take out their phone.

“Do I have your permission to record you?” they ask. Katsuki nods again, so Maddie opens a new voice memo, propping it onto the table between them. Running a finger along the rim of his mug, Katsuki looks over at the notebook and sighs.

“Do you… just want the answers to the questions?” he asks.

Maddie shakes their head. “I want a proper conversation,” they say, before pressing the record button. “So, congratulations on the Grammy for best new artist! Can you tell me more about your new album?”

* * *

“So how was it?” John asks, hours later as Maddie finally shows up at the offices of _History Maker Magazine_. The hallways are filled with the whirring of machines and the clacking of keyboards, with a couple people shooting paper airplane memos at one another across the tops of their cubicles. Maddie slumps into their seat, pulling off their aching pumps.

“He was nice,” they say as they tie their hair into a ponytail. “Answered all my questions.”

“That’s the lowest bar for ‘good interviewee’,” replies John, rolling his eyes.

“And it’s a bar a couple people refuse to crawl over,” retorts Maddie. “I’ve been ghosted on several of them myself. Sometimes I’m surprised people even show up.”

“And yet this time _you_ decide to be late.” John throws a wadded-up draft of his own story at them. Maddie laughs.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to be late. I forgot to set my alarm last night.”

“Cool motive, still late.” John waggles a finger. “Brad showed up again, by the way. Left you flowers with the receptionist.”

Maddie shivers. “What did you do with them?” they ask.

“Took out the card and gave them to Lacey,” replies John.

Maddie scoffs. “Okay, I’m going to knock off one nacho for that. You took my flowers —”

“From your creepy stalker ex, so I’m basically still doing you a favour —”

“But you used them to woo your _editor_ ,” Maddie points out. “I’m pretty sure she’s taken, anyway.”

“What proof do you have of that?”

“She’s always being walked to work by this handsome, super well-dressed older woman? If they’re not together, I’ll eat my article.”

John snorts. “Well, if that’s the yardstick of determining if someone’s in a relationship, then Katsuki and Nikiforov are in one, too.”

“Okay, and why would you say _that_?”

“Because normal producers don’t walk their recording artists to their interviews like worried mothers sending off their children to preschool for the first time,” replies John, crossing his arms. “If anyone gets walked to an interview, they’re usually high profile and surrounded by security and PR teams. Not an emerging young artist, and not by his producer.”

“Katsuki told me he’d gotten some inappropriate interview questions,” says Maddie. “It’s probably temporary worry, anyway. Doesn’t mean they’re in a relationship, unlike Lacey and her sugar momma.”

“Oh fuck off, that’s not even —” John cuts off, groaning. A couple other people shush them, so he flips them off. “If Lacey doesn’t want my flowers, she should tell me so.”

Maddie purses their lips. “Sometimes people don’t like offending other people who are nice to them. Besides, have you even tried talking to Lacey as someone _not_ trying to get into her pants?”

“And have you considered the possibility that Nikiforov cares just a little too much about Katsuki than what’s supposed to be professional?” retorts John.

“I will if you will,” replies Maddie, already turning towards their laptop. “Now fuck off, I’ve got an interview to transcribe.”

“I told you to fuck off first,” says John.

“Didn’t count,” replies Maddie, waggling their fingers. “Bye.”

* * *

**ii. steph, a musician**

“ _Music is more than just notes or lyrics. It’s emotions and stories, too_.” The words, part of the interview transcription, flicker brightly on the screen in Maddie’s office in the early evening. Katsuki had smiled over his coffee as he said that, mid-morning light hitting his glasses with a soft golden glow. Maddie had watched, feeling their heart slip a little farther out of control at the simple charm of Katsuki’s smile.

“ _I fell in love with music when I was young, and it’s been an important part of my life since then._ ” The singer’s dulcet voice is smooth and low even in the graininess of the memo playback. Maddie types down his words, before looking over at their poster of Katsuki seated at a piano, eyes closed, face expressive. Maddie had pilfered it from the St Lidwina University student centre when he had performed there last year, the paper now slightly wrinkled from all the popcorn walls it’s been taped to.

Endings and beginnings, life and love. Katsuki had talked about Nikiforov being his greatest inspiration, and how mind-blowing it had been to have Nikiforov show up at his family’s inn and offer to be his producer. Nikiforov, who had attained international notoriety at 16 with a YouTube channel full of dynamic violin covers of pop songs, had been Katsuki’s muse for years before their first meeting, and Maddie supposes that’s why half of the internet seems to think they’re secretly dating.

“ _What is it about Viktor Nikiforov’s music that appeals to you as a fellow musician_?”

“ _Viktor is just… he’s so expressive, so perfect? The way he plays his violin like it’s an extension of his own soul. When you get him playing — not performing,_ playing _— he’s like music itself. Genius_.”

“ _And how do you think his mentorship has helped you_?”

A long sigh. “ _I used to think I was all alone, that I had to bear the burden of all of my ideas and worries by myself. But with Viktor, I feel like I can be more open in expressing my emotions_.” There’s a pause there, as Katsuki contemplates his next words. Maddie remembers this moment, sipping their latté in warm anticipation as they waited for Katsuki’s response. “ _Like love. I used to think it was abstract, but I now know it’s all around me. It’s the support of my family, my friends, my fans — and Viktor helped me understand that. Now I just have to prove it to the world_.”

The café’s background music slides into Katsuki’s newest single, “Beautiful Woman”. The guitar and violin refrain echoes distantly in the recording, as Katsuki’s mortified laughter tries to drown it out.

Maddie’s own giggles seem distorted in the recording. “ _Is that why your new album is titled_ On Love?” But before the recording can confirm, the door to Maddie’s room bangs open to herald their roommate Steph, tying her hair in a floppy bun.

“Mads!” she yells, nearly tripping over her cello case as she stumbles into the room. Maddie takes out both headphones, pausing the memo on their phone as Steph leans over and slams the laptop lid shut. “I just got out of a long recording session with Yuuri Katsuki and his horndog producer,” she declares. “I deserve gelato.”

Maddie blinks. “Horndog?” they echo, as Steph drags them by the wrist out of their chair.

The gelateria sits at the corner of their street, bursting with warmth and the sugary smell of waffle batter and melting chocolate. Maddie and Steph push past a gaggle of kids pressed against the window on their way inside.

“Tell me more about the horndog,” Maddie repeats as they head to the counter for samples.

Steph snorts. “You’re not even going to ask me about how Katsuki was? I thought you were _his_ fan.”

Maddie sighs. “How was he, then?” they ask.

“He was late,” replies Steph immediately. “He said it was because of an interview. Which I’m guessing was yours? You were transcribing something when I burst in.”

Maddie nods. “My assignment was today, too.”

Steph coos at that. “Well, how was that?”

“He was nice,” replies Maddie. “Answered all my questions. Was he nice, too? With you?”

Steph opens her mouth to reply, but their cones arrive at that moment. Maddie covers her before Steph even gets her wallet out, and she concedes it with a sigh.

“I owe you gelato next time we come here,” she says. “Get you to leave your room. How’s transcription?”

“He still has difficulty separating Rs and Ls sometimes,” Maddie replies, shrugging. “But I guess you’d know, since you worked with him.”

“Yeah. He’s very sweet.” Steph bites into the gelato. “They needed a cello in the backing track of this one piece, a counterpoint to the violin or something. I can’t really tell you more, but it’s for the new album.”

Maddie hums. “And his producer was playing the violin?” they ask. Steph nods. “The _horndog_ producer you mentioned earlier? I can’t believe that’s what you think of Viktor Nikiforov. He won Eurovision at _16_!”

Steph rolls her eyes. “Winning Eurovision at 16 doesn’t mean he can’t be a horndog,” she declares. “If his hands weren’t full of violin, they were full of Katsuki. They spent like, so much time together in the other booth in between sessions. The _soundproofed_ one.”

Maddie raises an eyebrow. “What were they doing in there?”

“Debating politics,” deadpans Steph. “I mean, _I_ don’t know, but I have a couple guesses as to why they picked the soundproofed room, you know.”

“Maybe it’s super secret album stuff,” Maddie points out. “Stuff they don’t want people to overhear.”

“And they decide to talk about it while everyone’s there?” Steph takes a pointed lick of her cone. “Something tells me industry secrets isn’t it.”

“You said it yourself that you don’t know.”

“But I’m dying to know.” Steph leans in closer, eyes wide. “Did Katsuki mention Viktor Nikiforov in his interview at all?”

Maddie purses their lips. “A lot, actually.” They scoop a bite of Steph’s cone, and add, “it was pretty hard to get him to talk about himself in comparison.”

Steph grins. “See my point?”

“He was just talking about how Viktor was his inspiration. That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re dating. What happened to that socialite from Thailand, Phichit what’s-his-face —”

Steph gasps. “You didn’t just call Phichit Chulanont ‘what’s-his-face’. Everyone knows his face.”

“I know, God’s gift to Instagram, whatever.” Maddie waves a hand. “Still, aren’t _they_ supposed to be dating?”

“The internet believed that, until Viktor Nikiforov showed up at the Katsuki family inn and started producing his albums,” Steph points out, rolling her eyes. “They were totally fucking in that sound booth. Or at least making out.”

Maddie shakes their head. “Well, that’s what _you_ think,” they reply.

Steph grins. “Twenty bucks they’re fucking?”

Maddie sighs, shaking their roommate’s hand. “Twenty bucks it’s none of _our_ fucking business,” they mutter, and bite into their cone.

* * *

**iii. rae, a librarian**

“I told you, we don’t carry that title. But you could check on the interlibrary loan system. We would get the book from another library that has the title if you did. It depends on where the closest library that carries the title is. I’m sorry if this is due tomorrow and you didn’t know. Maybe try JSTOR?” Rae is on the phone as Maddie enters the St Lidwina University Library, laptop in hand and brows furrowed. “Rodnina Free Library doesn’t close until six and they have a copy, so if you go there now you might be able to get it.”

The doors to the library swing open, and in comes a gaggle of teenagers, blushing and stumbling over themselves as they try to claim a table near the main entrance. Rae looks over to shush them with a pointed glare. The teens subside, diving behind their binders under the pretense of homework.

“Good luck on your search and your paper, Ms Clark.” She hangs up and sighs, stabbing a pencil deeper into her dirty blond bun. “What do people think I am, a magician? ‘Rae, can you get me this book off ILL within 24 hours?’ I don’t know, can you turn the sky octarine?”

Maddie raises an eyebrow. “Is it that time of the year?”

Rae gasps in mock offense. “You can’t just limit Pratchett to one specific time of year,” she hisses. Maddie snorts into their hand, and Rae rolls her eyes, before leaning in conspiratorially.

“Those kids have shown up every other day. You would _think_ by now they’d remember that libraries are for homework, not paparazzi stalking.”

Maddie raises an eyebrow. “Paparazzi stalking? Does SLU have anyone that —” At that moment, the doors to the library had swung open to admit Yuuri Katsuki, his producer only a couple steps behind. “Ah.”

“Viktor, you know I’m terrible at studying when you’re here,” Katsuki is rebuking Nikiforov as they walk right past the table full of starstruck teens. Maddie waves a little; Katsuki looks over mid-sentence with Nikiforov and smiles, waving back.

Almost in unison, the teenagers turn towards Maddie to throw them the world’s most perfectly synched stink-eye. Maddie has to admit it’s quite impressive.

“Studying?” mutters Rae as the two of them vanish between the shelves. “What does he have to study, Nikiforov’s abs?”

Maddie chokes down a snort with a coughing fit. “He mentioned in the interview that he was doing graduate studies at SLU for musicology.”

“Wow, I thought the SLU musicology department was just three people and a paperclip.” Rae laughs. “Now I almost regret not joining it.”

There’s a pointed cough, and Maddie turns to see an older man with spectacles and a tower of books, tapping his feet impatiently. They step out of the way, waving at Rae who grimaces briefly before putting on her brightest, fakest smile at the man.

The university library overlooks Schiedam Lake, which glitters bright and jewel-like in the afternoon sun. The sunlight pours in through the numerous lakeside windows, and at one of the tables near this view sit Katsuki and Nikiforov, heads bent over a notepad with quiet whispers filling the space between them.

Maddie takes a nearby armchair, just out of hearing range. They take out their laptop, pulling up the article they’ve been working on. The transcripts of the interview with Katsuki are in a separate window, accompanied by recordings of Katsuki’s last performance in New York, and a Spotify playlist of his latest album. It’s a little surreal to be working in the same space as the person they’re writing an article about, but the universe has done worse.

Another bouquet had turned up at their work today. Maddie had immediately dumped it in the break room, throwing away the card unopened. It’s part of the reason why they’re at the SLU library — that, and the fact that the library is one of the few places in town with AC strong enough to combat the early autumn heat.

Over at the table, Nikiforov is now passing notes to Katsuki, who is intently obscuring his face with his textbook. Maddie ducks behind their laptop just as Nikiforov looks around, peeking out to watch the man whisper something in Katsuki’s ear. Both of them then get up and leave, leaving their books and notes lying on the table.

“I’m not even that surprised,” Rae declares when Maddie tells them about it later. The librarian is closing her shift, gathering up her papers and stuffing them into her backpack. “They still haven’t gathered their stuff? I’ll let Lexie know.”

“It’s happened before?” asks Maddie, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, people try to get away with fucking in the stacks all the time,” Rae rolls her eyes. “If it’s not the stacks, it’s the study rooms in the basement. I turfed out a couple horny freshmen down there the other day. I bet you the two of them are down there right now.”

“I — I didn’t mean that they’re fucking in the stacks,” Maddie blusters, feeling warmth spread down their face. “I was just saying they’ve spent a lot of time away from their table, and someone might want to make sure their stuff didn’t get taken, or —”

“The library isn’t responsible for that,” Rae says, shrugging. “And the odds of them being in the stacks are pretty high if you believe the internet. Besides, someone’s bound to report it if they’re there.”

“What, is it _that_ obvious if someone’s using the stacks for things besides reading?” asks Maddie.

Rae nods. “People fucking are super loud even when they’re trying to be quiet.” She pauses. “Anyway, I’m not on duty anymore, so it’s Lexie’s problem now.”

Maddie chuckles. “Well, I hope they’re just having trouble with the vending machine downstairs or something,” they say, nodding towards the teenagers who are gathered around an iPad, one person occasionally peeking out from the horde like a sentry meerkat watching for Katsuki’s return. “I don’t think Katsuki would want to be caught by one of those kids.”

“God, that’d be the worst,” agrees Rae.

At that moment, the doors to one of the stairwells swing open, and Katsuki and Nikiforov emerge with dishevelled hair and clothing, but triumphantly bearing two armfuls of snacks and drinks. Maddie feels a twinge of vindication, and Rae raises both eyebrows in amusement.

“Imagine that,” she says, swinging her backpack onto her shoulders and stepping out behind the counter. “I guess they’re going to be here for a while.”

“Lexie’s problem?” wonders Maddie. Rae nods.

“Come on, let’s go get something to eat. There’s a new poutine place on Dean that I wanted to try…”

* * *

**iv. cari, a florist**

“This is really getting out of hand,” Maddie mutters as they look down at the bouquet sitting innocuously on their doorstep.

Steph pokes her head over their shoulder. “Is it the same from the two office bouquets you got?” she asks.

“Same card,” says Maddie, plucking out the card and its holder. It only says ‘Please talk to me’ on it, but it sends a shiver down their spine nonetheless.

“Ugh,” says Steph, taking the card from Maddie and ripping it in half. “Have you tried going to the police?”

“Brad hasn’t done anything dangerous,” mutters Maddie, picking up the bouquet. “And I guess we didn’t really end it on the best of terms, but —”

“He’s being a creep,” grumbles Steph, turning the card over. “Huh, it’s from Cari’s shop. I know them; I’ll go tell them that filling orders from a creepy ex is a shitty thing to do.”

And that’s how Maddie finds themselves squeezed into a little flower shop on the other side of town, trying to make space between seven species of fern and three breeds of orchid. Cari, a dark-skinned blond with a pair of goggles perched in their nest of thick hair, startles bird-like from behind the register as Steph slams the bouquet onto the counter. “Oh,” they say, looking up at the vibrant blooms. “Those were for you?”

“Not me,” snaps Steph. “Maddie. From Brad.”

Cari opens their mouth in exaggerated offense. “Brad?” they echo, pointing a finger at the flowers. “Oh no, sweetie, I’d never serve that asshole. A sweet old lady bought this, I swear.”

“What about the other ones that were sent to _History Maker Magazine_?”

“Those were done over the phone.” Cari bites their lip. “Those ones I couldn’t tell. Someone named Ethel? Effie? Something like that.”

Steph’s eyes narrow, and she turns back to Maddie. “Do you know some old lady named Effie?” she asks. Maddie shakes their head. “See? Why would some complete stranger send Maddie flowers? Especially flowers with a message that only Brad would write?”

“I don’t know?” The goggles on Cari’s head shake more wildly in their denial. “Listen, I get a lot of people buying flowers for other people to give as presents, okay? So I had no idea Effie was enabling Brad’s creepiness, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” says Maddie.

“It’s not fine, and you know it,” Steph growls. “How did you not find out sooner?”

Cari sighs. “Listen, you wouldn’t believe who comes in here to get flowers for other people. I know the assistants of several cheating CEOs now. And Viktor Nikiforov sent his cousin the other day —”

That gets Maddie’s attention. “He _what_?” they ask, swooping over to the counter. Steph, too, has raised an eyebrow, encouraging Cari to continue.

With the smug grin of someone who knows they’ve got a scoop, Cari leans in. “Yeah. Every other week or so he sends this gangly kid in to buy thirteen roses. Well, the first time he came in with the kid and explained himself, saying that Russians only have even bouquets at funerals or something. The kid kept saying stuff about how a pig wouldn’t care about the number of roses he gets, but Viktor didn’t pay any attention to him.”

“A pig? He buys flowers for a pig? That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Steph gushes.

“I think ‘pig’ is code for someone,” Maddie remarks. “Maybe he’s seeing a cop.”

“I don’t think he’s the kind,” Cari muses. “Anyway, the kid comes in and gets the roses himself these days. Actually, I think he’s due in…” The bell at the front door chimes. “Right now.”  

Maddie and Steph turn towards the door to see a gangly blond teenager slinking in, his scowl tucked deep in his black hoodie.

“It’s like 98 degrees out,” grumbles Steph, taking a step to the side as the teenager strides up to the counter and slams down a wad of bills.

“ _Roses_ for my _ridiculous_ cousin,” he snaps. Cari counts the cash and nods.

“The red ones again?”

“Yeah. Thirteen.” The teenager rolls his eyes.

“Gotcha.” Cari hums, going to pluck an extra rose out of the singles bucket and add it to one of the dozen-rose bouquets. “Why can’t he come in to get it himself?”

“I don’t even want to know why,” mutters the teenager. He turns and scowls at Maddie and Steph. “What, is there something on my face?”

“Aren’t you Yuri Plisetsky, the youngest cellist studying at SLU?” asks Steph. “My colleagues at the St Lidwina Philharmonic say you’re really good.”

The teenager looks slightly mollified, if the easing of his glower is of any indication. “I’d be performing with LiddyPhil this season, but my cousin said I should _focus on my studies_ .” He rolls his eyes. “When he was my age he was winning Eurovision, not going to _class_.”

Maddie looks over at Steph, whose eyes have gone wide. “Viktor Nikiforov is cousins with the country’s best cellist and sends him on dumb errands,” she deadpans. “I hope he gets you ice cream or something, you look like you’re going to overheat.”

“I’m from Russia,” says Yuri flatly. “I’m always cold.”

Maddie hides a snort in a coughing fit at that, and Yuri sends them an odd look as he takes the roses and leaves. Cari gestures to the door, and then back at them. “See what I mean?” they say. “Viktor’s getting roses for someone. Probably not himself or his cousin, so that leaves us with the mysterious piggy.”

“Why _doesn’t_ he come in and get it himself?” wonders Steph.

“Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to know exactly who the mystery pig is,” says Cari. “It’s none of my business, though.”

“It is your business if someone’s using your blind eye to harass someone,” Steph counters.

“I didn’t know she was doing that!” Cari insists, their goggles bobbing like a dinghy in the sea of their hair. “I’ll keep an eye out for Effie, I swear.”

Steph shakes her head. “Do,” she says, before turning back to Maddie and putting a hand on her hip. “If Piggy turns out to be Katsuki, I win the bet, right?”

“ _If_ he turns out to Piggy,” retorts Maddie. “Just because Nikiforov has thirteen roses doesn’t mean he’s giving them to Katsuki.”

“Who else would he give them to?” wonders Steph.

“...Himself?”

Steph rolls her eyes, taking Maddie by the elbow. “Yeah, sure. Give us a heads up if Effie returns,” she says. Cari salutes them, as Steph drags Maddie towards the door. “Let’s go get Starbucks.”

“I need to finish my article,” Maddie protests.

“Let’s go get Starbucks,” repeats Steph more emphatically. “Why bother sleeping?”

* * *

**v. alex, a bartender**

_…Even though he knows that he is loved and supported all around the world, I don’t think Yuuri Katsuki knows the extent to which he has changed people’s lives. As I watched him drink his latté this golden morning, the steam from the mug fogging his glasses, I felt the same tongue-tied awe I had felt the first time I saw him perform. At the time, I was recovering from the momentous decisions I’d just made in my life to leave my partner of two years, to move out from his apartment and thumb and live my own truth. Seeing the bravery in his music, the soft hopefulness in his songs — that was what got me to keep going._

“ _And I know that for countless other people who have been touched by Katsuki’s music_ ,” mutters Maddie as they squint at their screen in this dimly-lit bar, “ _my story is theirs as well_.”

Finally. The article is done. Maddie saves it, slamming their laptop shut with a satisfied sigh. Across the bar, their friend Alex laughs a little.

“You done, or did you give up?” he teases.

“Done,” Maddie exhales. Alex claps.

“Congrats, Mads. Have a drink on me?”

Maddie scrubs at their eyes. “Gladly,” they mutter. “Find me the fruitiest shit you can whip up.”

Alex snorts. “You’re talking to the world’s biggest fan of fruity cocktails,” he declares, before turning back to the shelves contemplatively. “I’ll find you something perfect, I swear.”

“Good,” says Maddie, before turning to survey the dancing Friday-night crowd. The music is just a couple decibels short of a headache; it thrums pleasantly through them, its pulse echoing theirs as they watch couples and groups move out on the dance floor.

The crowd parts, and Steph emerges with jingling bangles and slightly smeared lipstick, drumming her fingers on the bar and fumbling for her purse. “Alex, honey, pour me some vodka!” she pleads, before turning to Maddie. “God, you’re still here? Finish already!”

“They just did!” Alex chirps, swinging back with a shot of vodka. “I’m fixing them something for the dance floor!”

“You won’t believe who I saw out there on the dance floor,” Steph declares, freeing her hair from its bun before downing the shot. She grimaces a little, before gathering her hair again and twisting it into another bun. Maddie raises an eyebrow, just as Alex pushes the most disgustingly blue blended drink across the table at them.

“Who did you see?” Alex demands. Steph looks around, before leaning in.

“Yuuri Katsuki’s here,” she whispers. Alex gasps.

“Oh my gosh. Call me an ambulance, I’m literally about to faint.” He mimes fanning himself for a moment, before grinning widely. “Where is he?”

Steph snorts. “Alex, you know he’s probably taken, right?”

“Can’t a guy dream?” he retorts, flicking his dishrag at her. She yelps, diving behind Maddie who grins and sips their drink. The potent sweetness hits them immediately.

“What the heck is this?” they ask, frowning.

“It’s called the Alex Gonzalez Superfruit Smoothie,” Alex replies with a wink. “It has _so_ much Curaçao, for the record. And so much everything else.”

“I think you need to work on that name,” says Steph, stealing a sip. “Oh my god. Is there supposed to be alcohol in this, or am I just supposed to call my dentist immediately after drinking?”

“I was considering ‘Unicorn Slush’, but then it sounded like I was grinding up unicorns to make it,” Alex muses. “Do you think Yuuri Katsuki would like it?”

“I’m not sure if I peg him as the fruity cocktail kinda guy,” Maddie remarks.

“I’m sure you’d love to peg him, anyway,” rejoins Alex, causing Maddie’s cheeks to flare.

“Some of us don’t like to think about our idols in sexual ways,” they say, a little stiffly, but Alex laughs as he fills a pint glass with beer and slides it down to someone at the end of the bar.

“Well, I’m not ‘some of us’,” he declares. “Yuuri Katsuki could step on me and I’d say thank you.”

Steph snorts. “On all of you? Or just your dick?”

“On — what the hell do you think?” Alex rolls his eyes. “Another shot?”

Steph lights up at that, but Alex waggles his fingers for her money first. Sticking her tongue out, Steph begins to fumble in her purse. Maddie chuckles, before taking another long sip and turning back towards the dance floor, where the music is pounding faster and harder.

“Oh, it’s a remix of ‘Beautiful Woman’!” Steph exclaims suddenly, pointing towards the ceiling. “Interesting, what they’ve done with it. I’m not sure if I like it.”

“I _love_ it,” Alex declares, bumping his hip against a fellow coworker’s. “Is this your jam?”

“Absolutely my jam,” agrees the coworker before bending down to grab something from under the counter. Steph downs her second shot, before taking the smoothie from Maddie’s hands and finishing it off

“Hey!” Maddie protests, as Steph puts the cup on the counter and tugs them by the wrists, trying to lead them into the crowd. “Alex, can you watch my stuff?”

“You got it, honeybunch!” Alex cheers, before asking someone to hand Maddie’s bag to him. Satisfied, Maddie follows their roommate out onto the dance floor, moving along with her to the beat of the music.

It doesn’t take long for Maddie to remember why they don’t frequent clubs that much — the press of bodies goes from intoxicatingly exciting to dangerously claustrophobic. The smell of what must be ten different perfumes hits them all at once, as Steph drops their wrists to bounce along with a particularly fast-paced remix of another Yuuri Katsuki song.

Then Katsuki dances into view with Nikiforov, the space between them almost nonexistent. Katsuki’s eyes are closed; his arms are around Nikiforov’s shoulders as they sway to the beat together. It’s breathtakingly intimate in a way that tugs at something deep inside Maddie, resonates with the loneliest parts of them deep inside their heart.

It’s been so long since they last looked the way Katsuki does now, safe and smiling and protected in the circle of another’s arms, the rest of the world nonexistent. Tearing their gaze from the two of them, Maddie stumbles back towards the bar, sliding onto the stool with a long sigh.

“What’s up with you? Not gonna dance?” asks Alex, a note of concern in his voice.

Maddie puts their head on the counter and extends a hand. “A shot,” they mutter. “Steph drank most of my drink.”

Alex chuckles, reaching for the vodka. “Okay, but this is going on your tab, darling.”

Maddie takes the glass and tosses back the vodka. The alcohol burns on its way down, causing them to wince before setting the glass back on the counter. “Katsuki and Nikiforov are dancing together,” they announce, jerking a thumb over their shoulder, “very closely.”

“You know, that’s a mood,” says Alex, nodding towards the shot glass. “I’d hoped the Internet was just bullshitting again as usual, but maybe not?”

“It’s a packed dance floor,” Maddie muses, as the music calms for a beat or two to allow some people to slip back to their tables and the bar for drinks. Katsuki and Nikiforov come into view now, still close together. “They could just have been pushed up against each other.”

Alex hums, looking in that direction. “Hm, something tells me that’s not what’s happening,” he says, just as Katsuki and Nikiforov take each other by the hand and vanish into the crowd. Maddie raises an eyebrow, as Alex watches their retreating backs with a distinct air of disappointment.

“Where do you think they’re going?” they wonder.

Alex purses his lips. “Five bucks they’re getting the fuck out, if you know what I mean.”

Maddie rolls their eyes. “Five bucks you’re a nosy asshole.”

“Hey, hey, who’s the one who brought up the fact that they’re dancing really close in the first place?” Alex scrunches up his face in mock contemplation. “What is it with the whole journalistic neutrality bullshit anyway? Don’t you think you’re trying a bit too hard to pretend you’re not invested in whatever Katsuki and Nikiforov are up to?”

“It’s just that —” But Alex raises his hand, shaking his head.

“I know it’s been rough for you,” he says. “Steph’s mentioned the unwanted presents and stuff. But, god, at the risk of sounding like a self-help book: maybe it’s time to stop watching other people live their best life and do it yourself, okay?”

“I’ve been trying,” Maddie groans, burying their head in their hands. It smears a bit of their eyeliner, and they sigh, peeking out at Alex between their fingers. “Moving out was hard. Coming to terms with —” they gesture vaguely to the rest of their body, “ _this_ was hard. And then I got so _busy_ —”

Alex laughs, pushing his hair out from his eyes. “We’re all busy, Mads. I’m busy trying to serve a party here and you’re just raining on my parade.” He reaches out for their glass, filling it up again. “There. On me. Go do something stupid. Live a little tonight. Take someone cute home, I don’t know.”

Maddie raises an eyebrow. “You’re the absolute worst at giving life advice,” they say.

“It’s your fault spilling out your heart to someone who just wants to make a buck getting you drunk,” retorts Alex, patting their arm. “At least dance with someone who isn’t Steph. Promise me you’ll dance with someone who isn’t Steph.”

“Okay, _mom_ ,” grumbles Maddie, but they finish the shot and push away from the bar nonetheless. “I haven’t messed up my liner too bad, right?”

“You look like a clown. But a cute one. Makes all the boy clowns go honk honk.”

Maddie rolls their eyes, and rejoins the crowd.

* * *

  **vi. maddie, a journalist**

Out in the crowd, it’s easy to detach. As the music flows around them, Maddie bobs along, pulled into the tide of bodies without much of a second thought. Steph is dancing with some girl, her hair even more mussed than before.

“Maddie,” a voice cuts through the pulsing beat. A familiar figure steps into view, his expression a mask Maddie had never been able to decipher.

“Brad,” they say, deadpan.

“I’m sorry,” says Brad immediately. “I messed up. I doubted you, I wasn’t understanding — I didn’t know what to do, and I froze, and I’m sorry I hurt your feelings —”

Maddie begins to walk away. Brad follows them, to the edge of the crowd, to the borders of the club lights flashing through the bar. He grabs their wrist, but Maddie twists their arm back. “I’m not interested in this conversation, Brad,” they snap. “Especially not since you keep sending me _flowers_ —”

“I just wanted you to —”

“To what? Know you’re actually sorry? You know sending me flowers after we break up is fucking _creepy_ , right?” Maddie’s not sure where any of this is coming from. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the anger at suddenly remembering everything they had done to break things off, to move away, to _leave_.

“You weren’t responding! You changed your number and blocked me on everything and I — I just wanted closure.”

Maddie opens their mouth, contemplating a response. It’d be too easy to punch him, but that’d get too messy, too fast. So they turn tail and run straight for the restroom, slamming the door closed just before Brad can get there.

“ _Let me in!_ _Mads, I swear to god I just wanted a decent conversation!_ ”

Maddie resists the urge to just scream as they lean heavily against the door, resisting each ferocious knock. “Fuck off, Brad!” they holler back through the wood. “If I see you anywhere near my work or my home, or sending stuff to it, or getting other people to do it, I’ll get the police involved. If you’re really sorry, you won’t make this messier.”

There’s a pause. The knocks abate. Panting heavily, Maddie slides down the door, not caring that the bathroom floor tiles are covered in stuff they really don’t want to know the origins of. The lights are dim, flickering; the walls are covered in lewd graffiti; along the opposite wall there sits a line of ill-used urinals.

Maddie groans, stepping away from the door and sequestering themselves in one of the stalls. Brad will probably come in soon, and that’s not a conversation they want to deal with at all, but until then —

There’s a rustling noise in the stall next to them. “Is the coast clear?” someone whispers.

“No one at the door,” another voice replies, a little breathy. “That doesn’t — _oh my god_.”

Maddie freezes. Shakily, hardly daring to breathe, they lean forward to the crack between the wall of the stall and the door, and peer through.

Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are in the other stall. And based on the state of their clothing, they haven’t been using the restroom for its intended purpose.

Nikiforov is sucking marks into Katsuki’s neck, his hands reaching down to squeeze the swell of his ass. Katsuki bites down another moan as he arches his hips to meet Nikiforov’s, and his hand moves down between them, fingers wrapping around — _oh_. Maddie pulls away, biting on their fingers to stifle their gasp. The sound of bodies moving and heavy breathing grows louder in the silence of the room.

Rae was right — even couples trying to be silent are conspicuously loud.

“God Yuuri, I want — I want it in,” Nikiforov mumbles suddenly, his voice somewhat muffled by Katsuki’s skin. A sudden gasp, punctuated by a moan. Maddie’s face feels like it’s on fire.

“Viktor, this is hardly the place,” Katsuki chides quietly.

“Yeah, but it excites me, you know?” There’s a wet noise, possibly kissing. Katsuki bites down another whimper, and then there’s the sound of clothing and bodies moving, and the quiet thump of a set of knees hitting the tile. “The chance someone might walk in while I’m deep in you — think we kept this a good enough secret?”

“Would’ve been better if you didn’t keep trying to grab my ass in public,” Katsuki rebukes, but there’s a definite fond tilt to his voice. “You’re so bad at keeping secrets, Vitya, why don’t we just give up and announce it?”

Maddie is frozen, rooted to the ground. Or at least the toilet they’re sitting on. Should they announce their presence? Try to escape and give the two their privacy?

“Vitya, at least wait for when we’re home,” Katsuki pleads.

“How could I ever say no to you,” mumbles Nikiforov. A prolonged wet slurp, followed by a shaky gasp from Katsuki.

“Do that again,” he whispers. “Vitya, I’m so close —”

There’s another knock on the door, causing everyone to freeze. The door begins to creak open again. “Mads?” Brad’s voice echoes from the hall, where the distant noise of the club is starting to trickle in. Maddie chokes down a squeak. “Mads, I know you’re still in there.”

“Yuuri?” Viktor whispers, as the hurried noises of zippers and clothes echo from the other stall.

“I got an idea,” Katsuki replies, unlatching the door and dragging Nikiforov out behind him. There’s an undignified squeak. Heart racing, Maddie peeks through the cracks of the door to see Katsuki sitting on the sink counter, his legs wrapped around Nikiforov’s midsection.

 _No way_.

“Hel _lo_ ,” Katsuki purrs, in the same smoky tenor Maddie had once heard on a student center stage, still reeling off the adrenaline of breaking up and moving out, still feeling hollow from the concept of change. “Who are you looking for?”

He looks almost _radiant_ , revelling in the knowledge of his own appeal. The mild-mannered young man crooning along with his piano and violin is nowhere to be seen. The last time he’d looked like this, he was lounging in a black satin evening gown on his own piano, in the music video for “Beautiful Woman”. That artistic choice now makes a lot more sense.

Brad’s voice quavers. “I’m… my ex boy… uh. Partner. Went in here a couple minutes ago. I’m looking for them.”

Katsuki hums. “Vitya, did you hear anyone else in here?”

“ _Oh my god it’s Viktor Nikiforov_ ,” whimpers Brad. Maddie bites their lip hard to stifle their laugh at that.

Nikiforov considers it, before shaking his head. “Nope,” he says blithely. “Didn’t hear anyone. Are you sure it was this bathroom? There’s also the one without the urinals, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure they went into this one,” Brad says. Maddie suspects he’s determinedly looking anywhere except at the two of them, and definitely not at the way Katsuki is greedily grabbing at Nikiforov’s ass.

“Mm, we’d have heard them if they had,” Katsuki says, before kissing Nikiforov in an obvious dismissal. There’s an awkward cough, before Brad gives up and slams the door closed. The kissing pauses.

“Check if he’s gone, dear,” Katsuki whispers. Nikiforov does so, nodding as he closes the door again. Satisfied, Katsuki tucks his shirt into his pants properly, runs some water through his hair, before walking to Maddie’s stall and knocking on the door. “You can come out now.”

With trembling fingers, Maddie fumbles the latch and lets the door swing open. “Hi?” they manage, waving weakly at Nikiforov, who’s leaning against the sink trying to make himself look like he hadn’t just been sucking off his boyfriend in a bar restroom. “I didn’t see anything, I swear.”

“I hope we didn’t make you too uncomfortable,” says Katsuki, cheeks flushing bright red. He reaches into his jacket pocket and puts his glasses back on, before fiddling with his fingers. “Um. So. Yeah.”

Maddie can’t help but giggle a little. “Thanks for the, uh, distraction. What you did with Brad.”

“Sounded like you weren’t having a good time with him,” Nikiforov remarks from the sink. “Do you need us to call you a cab or something?”

“Oh! Um, my friend Alex is the bartender, and my roommate Steph is here, too, I can get a ride off them, it’s no problem.”

“Well, we feel like we’d want to stay with you just in case Brad comes back,” Katsuki declares, looking over at Nikiforov. “Right, Vitya?”

“Absolutely,” agrees Nikiforov. He bounces forward. “I’m Viktor! And this is my fiancé, Yuuri.”

Maddie gapes. “Fiancé!” they manage. “That… that wasn’t in the… when we…” They gesture helplessly between them and Katsuki, who laughs sheepishly.

“We were keeping it a secret,” he admits, putting an arm around Nikiforov’s waist. “It’s supposed to sell more albums or something, the concept of me being hypothetically available or… whatever. But Viktor’s so bad at it that we’ve just decided to come forward instead.”

“Well, it’s only been a couple of months, sometime just before the Grammys,” adds Nikiforov. He pauses, looking between them. “Wait a moment, you’re the reporter, right? The one who interviewed Yuuri for the magazine?”

Maddie nods, a bit bonelessly. It feels like it’s been _years_ since they did that interview. “I just finished the article today.”

“You don’t mind holding off on this for a little longer, right?” asks Nikiforov. Though he’s smiling, it’s a little less sincere than the ones he’d given a little earlier. This one has more teeth. “We want to be the ones to announce it.”

Maddie blinks, and then remembers how to work their jaw. “This is all off the record,” they confirm, shaking their head. “I won’t breathe a word.”

The next morning, Steph gets twenty dollars, and Alex five. When they demand to know what happened, Maddie merely shakes their head and mimes zipping their lips.

A day after their feature article comes out in _History Maker Magazine_ , Viktor Nikiforov’s Instagram posts a picture of two engagement rings.

The day after that, Maddie opens the door of their apartment to see a large bouquet on the doorstep. “Brad again? When will he learn to quit?” demands Steph, peering over Maddie’s shoulder.

“It’s not Brad,” says Maddie, pulling out the card from the vellum envelope attached to the bouquet. “It’s an invitation.”

“From Brad?” asks Steph, eyes narrowed.

“No,” says Maddie, grinning as they show the card. “To Yuuri and Viktor’s wedding.”

Steph screams.

**Author's Note:**

> This was commissioned by the lovely and infinitely patient [velvetcovered-brick](https://velvetcovered-brick.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Chat with me on [Tumblr](https://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/lilywinterwood).


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